He’s going to put it inside me.
I was good, and now he’s rewarding me.
“That’s it. Be a good girl.” He groans, and the pleasure in his voice is unmistakable.
“Please,” I beg. “Please.”
The sound of his skin slapping against my ass is undeniable. Oh god, that’s hot.
“Fuck, yes. Beg for it.”
His fist moves, and every so often, it brushes against my burning skin, igniting a pleasure inside me like no other. I need this. I need this so bad.
“Please,” I practically cry.
“Fuuuckkk,” he roars, and something hot splashes against my skin.
I blink.
It takes me a moment to realize what just happened.
We aren’t about to have sex, and I’m not about to receive pleasure.
He slaps my ass hard and releases my neck, then stands.
“You need to learn to be a good girl, Little Brat.” He laughs, and fury fills my bloodstream as I roll onto my back to face him. “Good girls get rewarded. Little brats get punished.” He winks.
Then the bastard leaves the room, taking my pleasure with him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
THEA
If this steroid-looking douche really thinks he can control me, he can think again. There’s no way in hell I’m staying home to study, especially not when commanded to by the man who wants to make my life a living hell.
Sure, he may look all hot and buff, but he’s still a dick.
My mind wanders to said dick.
Jesus, that thing is huge.
Since the incident in my bedroom two nights ago, I’ve been at a loss as to how to seek revenge against him, and the most annoying part is, all I want is for him to touch me like I crave him to. I know he wants to; there’s no denying our attraction, but he won’t crack. He won’t take that one step I’m desperate for him to take.
He’s also taken his punishment further by forbidding me to leave the house at night. Is he for real? When I questioned him, he simply said I needed to study. Has he not seen my grades? I do not need to study.
Shaking my head, I concentrate on the task at hand—getting ready for the house party.
For the first time, I’ve been invited to the most-elite party of the year. Hell, most girls my age would give anything to have Jenkins Goodison invite them to his notorious party. According to Posy, no eighteen-year-old in their right mind would pass up this opportunity, and she would know; she’s stalked his socials since we were old enough to navigate them.
Tonight, I’ve chosen to wear a short black dress with thin straps, my signature combat boots, and a choker around my neck with a little ring in the center. I’ve got my pink hair up in a messy bun. The fact that my mother would probably die if she saw how I’m dressed has a smile spreading over my face, making it difficult to apply the peach balm to my lips. “Perfect,” I say, with an air of confidence I normally lack when I leave for events and parties.
Posy encouraged me to be myself and dress how I like, but that’s easy for her to say when her parents are supportive of her. They’re also not trying to impress dignitaries and billionaires by flaunting their daughter’s coming of age like she’s prized cattle.
I pick up my phone and slip it inside my combat boot, then with a quick glance at the door, a rush of adrenaline surges through me.
“Adios, motherfucker.”
MASSIO
